


Teaching Methods

by panpinecone



Series: Lessons And Lectures [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Awkward Sexual Situations, Desk Sex, Doodles, Kissing, M/M, Nipple Play, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpinecone/pseuds/panpinecone
Summary: Samuel Ortez has never met a student who couldn't be taught. His office hours are always open and he's always ready to help.





	Teaching Methods

Samuel Ortez was what most would call an old-fashioned professor. He referred to students by surname, rarely addressed anything but the lecture at hand, and believed all students possessed the capability to learn the material— provided they had the proper guidance.

Which was why he found himself in his office on one of his rare free days, counting down the minutes until his one-on-one session with what might be the most confusing student to have ever graced his classroom.

Michael J. Caboose was... An enigma. It was plain to see that most of the course flew right over his head, yet he showed an alarming ability to remember the details others overlooked. He could perfectly recount the ways various historic battles had played out, yet for the life of him couldn't articulate what the battles had been over, or even who had fought them. Similarly, he showed a remarkable talent for identifying people in both portraits and paintings, but he could never get their names quite right.

Even that paled in comparison to the fact that he couldn’t get Sam’s name quite right either, opting for ‘principal’ instead of ‘professor’. He could just say ‘Mr. Ortez’ and avoid the issue altogether, but if his insistence on ‘Mr. Principal Ortez’ counted for anything, Caboose wasn’t one to avoid issues when they could be tackled head-on.

Or when they had yet to be created in the first place.

Frankly, Sam was at an utter loss. What could he be expected to do for a student like Caboose? He couldn't in good conscience fail him, but outright passing him also seemed ill-advised. Before he could ponder the matter any further, a knock at his office door pulled his attention to the clock. Right on time.

_Surprising_. 

“Come in,” he called out, and the door opened to reveal Caboose, eyes as bright and grin as wide as they always were.

“Mr. Principal Ortez! I was waiting for you in class but you didn't show up so I thought maybe I mixed up the rooms again and so I started trying all the rooms and some people got upset but it's okay because I found you and here you are. Hello!”

Sam blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the sequence of events Caboose had just described. Finally, he asked the only thing he could bring himself to.

“How long were you waiting?”

Caboose shrugged. “Oh, I've been here since they unlocked the building this morning,” he said, shutting the door as he stepped in.

Sam closed his eyes. He could do this, the study session would go _fine_ , there was _no possible way_ it could be derailed to such an extent, not with him there to keep Caboose on track.

He cleared his throat. “I'm glad you made it. Now, what did you want to go over?”

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later they were no closer to a breakthrough than when they'd started.

Sam had been explaining how the invention of the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine in the late 23rd century revolutionized travel from that point forward, and Caboose appeared to be studiously taking notes. However, when Sam asked him to summarize the lecture he'd just been given, none of what he said made chronological sense, and when Sam had asked to see his notes, he was treated to a full page of colorful yet unrelated doodles.

“Caboose...”

“Yes, Mr. Principal Ortez, sir?”

Sam sighed. He could do this. He could _do_ this. He just needed to figure out Caboose's preferred learning style and go from there. _Any_ student could be taught.

“Caboose, what are your interests?”

“Interests?”

“Activities you excel at, topics you know a lot about. Hobbies.”

“ _Well_...” Caboose’s face scrunched up in thought and he tapped a finger against his chin. “Oh! I know!” he yelled suddenly, making Sam flinch in his seat. “I'm good at drawing.”

Sam looked down at the childlike doodles again. “...I can see that,” he said, bringing his hands together to rest his head on them. It wasn't an answer he'd been hoping for, but he could work with it.

“Show me,” he prompted.

“Okay!” Caboose excitedly agreed, immediately bringing his notebook close and flipping to a new page before hunching over and scribbling away.

Sam leaned forward, but it was impossible for him to make out anything from his side of the desk. He was just about to say something when Caboose glanced up and realized his struggle.

“Oh, silly me. Sorry, Mr. Principal Ortez! You can't see anything from way over there!”

And so saying, he stood from his seat and made his way around the desk. Before Sam could ask what he was doing, he'd plopped himself right into his lap and pulled the notebook over.

“Ah, that's better. Now you can see!”

To say Sam was dumbfounded would be a severe understatement. There was no shortage of things he could say or do, but by the time he got halfway through articulating a response, it occurred to him that far too much time had passed for him addressing the situation to be anything but awkward. Not to mention, Caboose was hard at work on a new sketch, and wasn't that the point of all this in the first place?

_Focus, Sam_.

He turned his attention to the paper beneath Caboose’s hands, watching as Caboose slowly gave form to what was undoubtedly a doodle of Sam himself, down to the stray hairs hanging in his face. Not entirely sure what to make of it, Sam stayed silent, simply observing the way Caboose worked and resolutely ignoring the weight of him in his lap.

“Ta-da!” Caboose announced, gesturing down at his paper.

Sam took in the finished product. He supposed that those who knew him would readily identify him as its subject. But aside from that, the sketch was just as simplistic as the others, though perhaps a bit more detailed. Still, if Caboose thought he was good at drawing, who was Sam to tell him otherwise? His only obligation was to be a good teacher and work with what he had in order to pinpoint Caboose’s learning strengths.

He could do it.

“How did you learn to draw?” he asked.

Caboose leaned back against Sam, which was horribly inconvenient as far as his ‘ignore the man in your lap’ goals went. “I dunno, I just draw a lot. Some things are better for drawing than others. Like crayons! Crayons are the best,” he mused, looking lost in what very well may have been positively riveting thoughts of crayons.

Sam sighed. This wasn't going how he'd planned. Perhaps it was time for a different approach. “Is there anything else you're good at? That you had to learn?”

More face scrunching and chin tapping ensued. “I like playing drums. Didn't really learn that though. I'm told I’m pretty good at rapping. I tried learning all the states but I never made it past Georgia. Ooh, I know Wingdings!”

This wasn't going like Sam had planned _at all_. He couldn't work with any of that. Maybe the Wingdings...? No, not even that.

He sat there growing increasingly worried that he'd failed as a teacher while Caboose rattled on, a backdrop of static to Sam’s professional crisis.

“Wait! There's one thing I had to learn, but I'm not sure if I'm good at it. I think I am. Maybe you can tell me.”

“...Fine.”

And without further ado, Caboose turned around and kissed him.

Oh. Oh, no. This was _bad_. Anyone could walk in and get Sam fired for this, never mind the fact that he'd never once had someone walk into his office without some sort of appointment. But precedent counted for nothing when Caboose was involved, as he just seemed to draw trouble wherever he went, in much the same way as he was drawing Sam’s breath from his lungs and panic from his heart.

At the soft swipe of a tongue against his lips, Sam let out a gasp that was lost between them as Caboose took the opportunity to lick at his lips again, refusing to go in any farther despite the easy entry before him.

Sam closed his eyes, finding that keeping them open was providing him with nothing but another thing to divide his thought capacity on, which was the last thing he needed.

And also because if this was happening, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Caboose’s hands settled on his jaw, angling his head up and deepening the kiss, lips moving more insistently and tongue giving another swipe.

Then, just like that, Caboose was pulling away.

Sam reluctantly opened his eyes, knowing it was time to face what had just happened and how terrible it had been. He swallowed down his nerves and met Caboose’s earnest gaze.

“Hmm, I think I am much better at kissing than history. Would you like to know what else I think I'm good at?”

_No_. _No, absolutely not_. _Not one bit_. 

Sam drew in a breath.

 

* * *

 

How he found himself lying back on his desk barely ten minutes later was anyone's guess, particularly his own.

This had to be the _worst_ sequence of events he'd ever enjoyed partaking in. His hands gripped the sides of the desk Caboose had practically tackled him onto, shirt buttons undone and undershirt rucked up to leave him exposed from the chest down. His torso heaved with each breath as he stared up at Caboose, unsure of what more was to come but certain that his innate curiosity would ensure he saw it through to the very end.

For better or for worse.

Probably worse.

“Yeah, I haven't really done this in a while but I'm sure it's just like riding a bike.”

_Definitely_ worse.

Whatever Sam meant to say died in his throat when Caboose pulled out a bottle of lube from seemingly nowhere. “...Did you plan this?”

“Huh?” Caboose followed Sam’s eyes to the lube. “Oh, I just carry it around. Helps me get out of tight spots.”

Sam decided questioning that would get him no closer to a satisfactory explanation, so he remained quiet as Caboose squirted out a decent amount across his fingers, then was caught by surprise when those fingers took hold of his dick and gave a couple of firm strokes, coating him in excess lube. It was undeniably welcome stimulation, considering Sam could hardly even remember the last time he'd done it himself.

He was a very busy man.

Caboose fingered the slit atop his dick, swirling the gathered precum around. A poorly stifled groan escaped Sam before he bit down on his lip, hands clenching the desk harder and hips arching into Caboose’s hand.

“Oh, good! I did remember how it went,” Caboose congratulated himself, giving Sam a few more strokes before pulling away his hand and pouring lube on it once more. “Now this next part I'm pretty sure I know.”

Sam’s legs jerked when Caboose’s slick fingers found his entrance, rubbing it gently but firmly. Another groan threatened to escape him and he doubled down on the lip biting.

Caboose’s other hand came down on his side, thumb circling over the juncture where thigh met hip. “How am I doing, Mr. Principal Ortez? Are you having fun?”

Sam gave a jerky nod.

“Then why are you being so quiet?”

“People might—” In went one of Caboose’s fingers. “—ah! People might hear...”

“Don't you want people to know you're having fun?” asked Caboose, looking for all the world like he was making a legitimate and not entirely nonsensical point. “You seem so serious all the time, I wasn't sure if you even knew how to have fun this way!”

Well. He wasn't _entirely_ wrong, but that was nobody but Sam’s business.

Another finger went in and Sam forgot what the original point had been. Something about people? Being quiet? Oh, right.

...Oh, no. Had they even locked the door?

Sam raced through his memories of the past hour, feeling his blood run cold as he realized the door was currently very much unlocked.

Were they really doing this? Here, now, in a tiny room where anyone could walk in at any moment? Never mind the fact that Caboose was his _student_  and oh, fuck, that was another finger, wasn't it?

_You have to say something, Sam_. _This needs to stop before_ —

_Before_ — 

“More, please.”

That was the exact opposite of what he'd meant to say, but he'd take it.

“Okay!” said Caboose, curling his fingers and pressing against Sam’s inner walls more insistently.

Sam gave another jerk.

“Oh, did you like that?” Caboose asked and promptly did it again.

Sam whined low in his throat and pushed his hips down on Caboose’s fingers, all thoughts of getting caught gone from his mind. There were only so many things he could focus on at a time, and Caboose was proving capable of being every one of those things.

“Wow, Mr. Principal Ortez, you look like you're having a lot of fun!”

Oh, he bet he did. Having it pointed out was embarrassing though. More or less embarrassing than getting fingered on his own desk was yet to be determined.

“C- Caboose...”

“Yes, Mr. Principal Ortez?”

“What about you? Aren't you going to...?”

Caboose retracted his fingers and Sam felt a rare bout of intense frustration. Rather than give voice to it, he watched intently as Caboose conjured up the lube once more. He poured another dollop into his hand and then, without a shred of hesitation, pushed down his sweatpants and oh.

_Oh_.

Sam knew he was on the bigger side, but Caboose was something else. _That_ was going to be a problem.

Maybe.

“Let me know if you stop having fun, okay, Mr. Principal Ortez?”

“If I...? Yes, okay.”

“Good,” said Caboose and immediately breached him.

Sam quickly let go of the desk to cover his mouth instead. For all that Caboose was careful, there was no getting around his sheer size, and Sam’s morbid curiosity grew as Caboose’s cock sank deeper and deeper into him with no apparent end in sight.

Until it stopped.

Sam felt well and truly penetrated, and truth be told, it had a way of pushing all other thoughts out of his head.

“Mm, you feel really nice,” Caboose murmured, and somehow _that_ was the most embarrassing thing thus far.

Rather than stew on it, he was distracted by Caboose leaning down to lay on him. It could be called an attempt at cuddling were Caboose not also balls deep in his ass. Sam froze in place, unsure of what to do, but relaxed when Caboose’s hands began running along his sides as if he were a scared pet in need of comfort.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel...” Sam considered the question. “Fine.” He cleared his throat. “And you?”

“I'm fine too,” Caboose answered. He moved a hand to play with one of Sam’s nipples, smile widening at the shudder his attentions provoked. “You know, you're very sensitive,” he commented, flicking the nipple back and forth. “Or at least your body is. I don't know about you as a person.”

Did Caboose expect an answer? Sam hoped not, because his ability for eloquence hadn’t gotten any better since the whole ordeal began. Instead, he contented himself with lying there, Caboose’s weight atop him surprisingly comfortable. He could see himself falling asleep this way, if not for the situation’s greater context.

Caboose moved to his other nipple, pinching and pulling it in quick succession, eyes shining brighter with every twitch he wrought from Sam. Apparently satisfied with his abuse of the nipple, Caboose palmed at the surrounding muscle, squeezing lightly. A few moments of groping passed before he abruptly stood up and dragged Sam halfway off the desk, leaving him no choice but to wrap his legs around Caboose in an attempt to hold on for dear life.

The first few thrusts were hardly noticeable, measured and shallow. All the same, Sam had no trouble feeling them, huge as Caboose was. They steadily grew more powerful, packing a punch that began rocking Sam back and forth on the desk.

Then Caboose seemed to grow impatient and started fucking Sam well and proper. His hips and balls slammed against Sam’s ass, the sound of their repeated contact loud in the small office, and his fingers dug into Sam's waist, nails painfully scratching at the skin.

Yet he still showed no signs of slowing down. He kept sheathing himself in Sam harder and faster, yelling out in fervor.

So much for being quiet. Sam could only hope that no one walked by within the next few minutes, since he wasn't exactly doing much better. Despite trying to stifle them, moans kept leaving him to combine with Caboose’s yelling and the rhythmic smacking, the mix leaving no possible doubt about what they were doing in his office.

Sam knew he was prone to making bad decisions, but this? This really took the cake.

“Mr. Principal Ortez, I’m— ! I—!”

Sam’s last thought before he came was that there was _no way_ the entire building hadn't heard that.

 

* * *

 

When Caboose began pulling away, Sam had a split-second irrational fear that he'd get pulled inside-out in the process, but then it was over and Sam was left with nothing to show for it but an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

In his body _and_ as a person.

He sat up, wondering what he should do next. What was the protocol for getting ravished on your desk by a student? Sam never thought he'd find himself in such a situation, and so had never bothered looking into it.

“That was...” He struggled for the right word.

“Fun?” supplied Caboose, pulling his sweatpants back up and collecting Sam's clothes from around the floor.

Sam considered the word and its implications. “...Yes,” he agreed at last. “Fun.”

“Neat!” Caboose declared, handing Sam his bundle of clothes. “Well, I think this was a very good study session, don't you? Now I’ll never forget how in 2291 the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine changed travel and the spread of humanity over the span of the next century. Thanks, Mr. Principal Ortez, see you in class!”

And with that he was gone, discretely shutting the office door as he stepped out.

Sam stared at the closed door, distantly aware that he was leaking cum onto his desk.

“...I hate this.”

He didn't really.


End file.
